Forging and Fracturing
by Kazoo Into It
Summary: Doubts about Darcy and Elizabeth's upcoming marriage run under the surface of everyone, and in times like these, the only answer is confrontation. [COMPLETE] Pending better title...


            It is generally, it seems, good practice to mention an engagement in passing, or more extensively within the private home environment, and adhere to the policy of being mindful of the feelings of both parties concerned, and let to them their privacy, but in such a town as has many widows, with many children and links to all of young society, such a possibility is preposterous. Meryton is known to be a town with many widows, all with the highest connexions to young society, and all with little else to do with their time but gossip, and so it followed that the imminent marriage between Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was top of the news.

            Yet Miss Eliza Bennet was unhelpful to the widows' prospects, being entirely mute on the subject, even with her friends and sisters at Longbourn. Jane was the only one who truly understood _why_, being Elizabeth's only confidence, that Elizabeth was silent regarding the subject, but saintly woman that Jane was, she would dare not disclose any information on the subject, even to her younger sisters.

            "Oh, Jane," sighed Kitty one day, while she was embroidering, "I do wish you'd not have quite as many morals as you do, or else information might be more easily drug from you." Kitty, in Lydia's absence, had grown more docile and ladylike, but still had her moments of gossip, such that Elizabeth and Darcy's betrothal had not failed to bring out. Kitty was on the whole awed with her sister's conquest; she was generally polite to Mr. Darcy in person, given his influence and status, but when he was not at present (as he was not at the moment, being in London to settle affairs before his upcoming marriage), she had no scruple in deprecating him.

            "Be that as it may, I do have my morals," said Jane sternly, "and you shall drag no information such as you search from me: Lizzy and Mr. Darcy's engagement is entirely their own business, and I trust you most explicitly not to ruin their courtship by spying on them."

            Kitty sullenly agreed that she wouldn't; however, she was not to escape so easily: Mary spotted the fingers, wretchedly crossed, lying innocently on Kitty's skirt, and broke into a sermon on the subject, taken from her most recent conduct book, each page more strict than the last. When Mary had finished, Kitty turned towards Jane once more and said, impetuously:

            "I sometimes wish that I had never gone down that lane! How much more pleasant it would have been to glimpse Darcy's proposal! Lizzy must have been so violently surprised, to have such a man propose to her! I suppose it must have been want of money that drove her to it, for he is such an unpleasant man; but why do you think he should propose to her? _He_ has nothing to gain from it!"

            "Do not broach the subject, I beg you," said Jane. "Perhaps you are searching for entirely the wrong reasons, and it's all a matter of love. Would you not think of that, instead of your pecunial interest?"

            "Jane, you misunderstand me: I am all in support of love, where it lies, but you cannot pretend that such a man would ever love, and so completely as to forget his connexions and pride, and lower himself to such a level. While I do not dare say we are lowly, we are certainly not ten thousand a year, and _that_ is irrefutable."

            "Your obsession with money is what is irrefutable," answered Jane. "You are just like Mother in that respect: do you not see, dear Kitty, that the world subsists on not financial matters, but romantic ones? I bid you, do not reiterate that either Lizzy or Mr. Darcy are solely interested in money. I know you must be most totally wrong, and I--! Oh! I'll say no more. But the words are hung in the air, now. Kitty, will you not have some tact?"

            "Jane, you're being dreadfully passionate. What ever has gotten into you? You must have been conversing too long with Lizzy: you almost shouted, just then. So Lizzy and Mr. Darcy love each other, you say? Well, since you say it, I shall not doubt it. But that Lizzy could not have fallen in love with a less sober man! I suppose his wealth shall make up for her dreary life. I daresay she will buy enough to suit her interests; even dreadful Mr. Darcy is excusable when one has pin-money enough to buy all of India. –Oh, fie! I've missed a stitch. Jane, would you pass me your needle?"

            Jane passed her the needle readily; but her leave was taken soon after. It was apparent she could not stand Kitty's pecunial interests, and no amount of entreaties would change Kitty's ways: Lydia's company had been far too long, it seemed, and her influence would never soften!

*

            Later that night, Jane entreated Elizabeth to ease her doubts about the interests at hand. The younger Miss Bennet was so shocked at her sister's worries that the whole matter tumbled out of her mouth in such a serious fashion as to seriously worry Jane!

            "Jane," she cried emotionally, "I cannot believe that your doubts have been so long in the unveiling! I expected you had revealed them all to me when I told you of Mr. Darcy's proposal—the second one, dear. We shan't ever think of the first one again—but I see now that I was mistaken. Will you not believe that the highlight of my day is no longer seeing the sun rise but seeing his eyes light up as we greet one another? I, too, am most disappointed in this apparent lack of regard for Mother Nature, but, oh, Jane: if you were experiencing what I am!"

            "I am, dearest Lizzy: I have my Mr. Bingley to go along with your Mr. Darcy. And be as he may, perhaps, not quite as attractive to you as your Darcy, he is _very_ attractive to me, and I daresay I shall be just as happy in my marriage as you in yours."

            Elizabeth nearly wrung her hands at her apparent transgression. "Jane! I did not mean to suggest that you were not as glad about your marriage as I about mine—however shall I remedy this? Your Mr. Bingley is most attractive: it is only my bias that makes me blind to Mr. Darcy's faults. Will you not forgive me?"

            "Of your prejudice, you mean? —Yes, that much is easily forgivable. It is present in my eyes as well. But let us leave off this topic: I am tired of comparing our betrotheds. They are equally admirable in an impartial party's eyes, and in ours it can only be expected that there is one that blocks all others. Indeed, if it did not, I'd fear most extravagantly that we were not marrying for love, but for money."

            "But we aren't, dear sister, and that is the beauty of it! –Oh, let us be happy. I so want to be happy: yet I never know if I can be any happier than with Mr. Darcy. I worry for our friendship."

            This was a most sobering thought; however, it was put to rest quickly by the realization that the friendship between betrothed and sisters was different, and should be experienced in different ways, one of which may seem happier than the other, but both of which were equal in the end. After this decision, and the agreement to no longer worry about the opposite sister's sentiments, they went to bed. Elizabeth could not sleep.          

            "There are doubts about this marriage," she said to herself, "but they are by no means the ones Janes believes them to be, as I know them well myself. And I _shall_ broach the subject with Mr. Darcy tomorrow: for while the courtship may be more peaceful while they are at rest, the marriage most certainly will not."

            With this avowed, she snuffed her candle and sank into the realms of sleep.

*

            It was nearly ten o' clock when a missive arrived from Messrs. Bingley and Darcy, addressed to Misses Jane and Eliza Bennet:

DEAR MISSES BENNET:

            Owing to unfortunate coincidences regarding important business transactions that cannot wait another day, we shall be involuntarily detained in London; however, if the transactions are not sufficiently completed within the span of three days, we shall rashly and bravely ride to Longbourn, since we cannot too long be kept away from such fine countenances. Please forgive us our delay and trust in the fact that we are, as your sister would observe, most violently in love with you both. The impertinence of this letter must also be forgiven, as we are not only new and inexperienced at writing love letters, but are also delirious with the thought of seeing you again, i.e., unfortunately intoxicated owing to an incident with sherry when we arrived at the inn last night that we'd both rather forget. (We bid you not disclose the contents of this letter to your parents, as we know we will regret any verbiage this letter might contain too soon after the fact, and we had rather not drag anyone else into it. However, if the occasion such does arrive as you must bear this note to your father or mother, pray tell him that the intoxication was not of our own doing and accept our apologies. Once we recover, we solemnly swear not only to fire the innkeeper, but also never touch mulled mead again as long as we both shall live.)

            YOURS EVER,

            FITZWILLIAM DARCY AND CHARLES BINGLEY, &c.

            The elder Bennet sisters exchanged disappointed glances, Elizabeth, perhaps, more than Jane, since she had been planning to discuss her marital worries with her husband-to-be this morning. Those effects, it seemed, would be delayed until three days hence, at least; and then there was the issue of their intoxication!

            "They do state that it was not of their doing," remarked Jane, as she and Elizabeth pored over the letter.

            "I know; and I too am willing to forgive them (after all, such incidents with mulled mead are bound to occur); however, I must say that I am appalled that they would have the audacity to write to us in a state of intoxication! It is almost unseemly."

            The sisters continued their walk along the garden path silently, but Jane noticed a ghost of a smile on her sister's face, head bowed as it was to the ground.

            "Lizzy," she realized wonderingly, "I daresay you're _glad_ they wrote, even intoxicated as they were!"

            The smile spread over Elizabeth's whole face, until she laughed and turned her face towards the sky, arms spread wide, and twirled around.

            "I am, Jane, I am! I know," she said, sobering, "that you will find it silly, but I am admittedly very much in love with Mr. Darcy, and no amount of mulled mead can change that! A letter from him is as good as a letter from anyone, and, oh, at times, how much better! My only regret is that he must be so far away as London to send it! It shall be my great undoing, but I confess I _cannot_ condemn him! I see his faults as well as anyone, dearest Jane, but I choose not to realize them. It _will_ be my great undoing, shan't it, Jane? And tell me, is it so wrong to want that?"

            "Love always was man's great undoing," Jane told Elizabeth, pulling her younger sister close to her. "Yet there is no amount of it that can make love wrong. Your ramblings are the whisperings of a woman in love," she sighed, "and, oh, how immediately my heart does also feel them."

            They wandered on, across the garden, around the oak tree near the east side, around the birch tree to the north, and wandered, and wandered, and felt that sisterly bond between them grow stronger than ever.

*

            Messrs. Bingley and Darcy did keep their word; three days later, two men arrived at the door of Longbourn, and were very much delighted when informed by the two they were seeking that their mother was in Meryton with Kitty and Mary, and only their father was home.

            "I cannot pretend to be sobered by this fact," Darcy confided in Elizabeth, once they had taken their leave of Jane and Bingley and gone to wander in the forest groves. "Indeed, I have never wanted anything more than to not have to contend with your mother when I am so desparate to see _you._"

            His hand had traveled up to meet the curve of her cheek while he had been speaking, and the desire in his eyes shone like nothing before, but although this moment had been too long in the coming, Elizabeth cleared her throat and stepped away before he could kiss her. There was something burning for it, in her lips and gut and chest, but the questions burning her throat were hotter, rougher, and needed quicker answers.

            Darcy's eyes were bewildered. He dropped his hand from her cheek.

            "I am sorry," he whispered. "I had thought it was welcome."

            Elizabeth could tell he was about to walk away, from the fright in his eyes and in his stance, and so she grabbed hold of the hand that had just dropped from her cheek and begged him with her eyes to stay.

            "I do not—I do not dare to—say that I don't welcome your attentions," she said softly. "Indeed, I have been longing for them for so long that I hardly know what to do with myself." Spent tears of frustration made their way to her eyes, causing Darcy alarm and regret. He tried to offer a hasty apology, but she shook her head.

            "This is of my own doing. I only need to put my mind at rest before my heart runs away with me. Walk with me," she offered, and they went off down the garden path.

            Elizabeth explained to him her fears: that he would never grow to accept her family; that without acceptance of her family their marriage would never prove functional; that—she hated to say it, but it had to be said—there was still a level of inequality between them, induced either by monetary wealth or gender, she did not know, but she could not accept it; that he could not respect her; that she would be a cause of ruin to him; that not only his relations but also hers would never recognize the marriage; that—oh, the worst one of all!—the love would die as he realized she could bring him nothing.

            Darcy grasped her hand tightly at the mention of the last one, and his eyes were wet. Elizabeth's lip trembled, but she held firm: she would discuss these, before the day was out.

            "I am deeply troubled by all of these," he admitted quietly, head bowed. "I, too, fear I cannot accept your family—though, oh, Lizzy, I am trying! —and my worries on the subject of that fact leading to our marriage's ruin are too many to voice. But it troubles me infinitely more to hear that you do not think we can ever be equal! –I, on the other hand, have always felt indebted to you, for the information of my ungentlemanly conduct, for the difficulty in obtaining your hand (such an ordeal as I hope never to go through again, though I shall not pretend it did not do me service in the end)—can you not see you have been so instrumental to my structure as a gentleman that I would fall to pieces were you not here to support me? That I cannot respect you is so far from the truth that I fear that the misapprehension can never be remedied. —However, I can do my best to assure you that, far more than respect you, I esteem you such as I esteem no one, and such as only lovers can esteem one another. I will not mention the moods of our relations on the subject, but I will not tell you they are all happy, since you know already they are not: yet what is that in the face of your other accusation: that my love will die! Insolent woman, that you should ever presume that my love was based on material values! That it was only your fine eyes that drew me towards you! That my whole, all-consuming passion was built on the curve of your neck? Graceful though they are, your charms do not play a role in this love. Perhaps it was never the fine eyes, but the spirit in them! Why do you not agree? I adore you in such a way as beauty can do nothing but demonstrate it; and if beauty drew me to you at the first glance, I did not love you at the first glance anyway: you are lovely, darling, but I could have found others—yet none with your spirit! It is… impossible to believe otherwise."

            Elizabeth put her hands to the sides of his face and held the strong jaw in her hand, kissed away the tears that had woven tracks down his cheeks. There was a great divide she was crossing: engaged though they were, the level of proximity was almost unseemly. But he needed her, and she needed him, and each of them _knew_ they needed each other, and the great divide would only grow and strengthen if it was not sewn back together now. The air reeked strongly of betrayal: that she should think such things was a cause of pain to both of them. Yet that was better now: with his face in her hands and her lips on his skin, there was a power that overcame the gaps of indecency, of hunger, of want.

            "First we must talk about that letter," Elizabeth intoned, drawing her head away but keeping her body against his. Darcy groaned.

            "We thought we were drinking cider," he told her. "I haven't had mead in so many years. We had no idea of the difference."

            "But the audacity—to write to us in that state of intoxication! You shan't ever want to know what that epistle said, I am assured."

            "I do not claim to desire to see it: I would rather you burnt it, and let both of us never think of it again."

            "I never burnt your letter from Rosings," Elizabeth admitted, a blush stealing over her face. The tip of her nose touched his. There were still tracks of tears on his face, but they were disappearing. The storm was over: this was not the eye of the hurricane; it was the end.

             "Dearest Elizabeth! –Do you have no scruples? I very much desire that it be hidden, if you have no intent of incinerating it, far away, and the subject not repeated!"

            "Yet must we not discuss only the good parts of our prior relationship, but the pitfalls? You cannot suggest we maintain an optimistic outlook on what occurred before that second proposal. I fear there is little basis upon which it to stand."

            "I do suggest that, Lizzy, I do! –There will be no time for sorrow. I shall never take you, or your love, for granted—I understand too well the consequences of such actions!" exclaimed Darcy, a smile breaking across his face. Elizabeth was struck by how the joy became him: solemn, he was handsome; joyful, there could be no equal!

            "I fear I shall never be worthy of you, Fitzwilliam," she said quietly. She felt his pulse quicken, almost indiscernably, at the usage of his Christian name.

            "It is quite the opposite, darling Lizzy: it is I who shall never be worthy of you."

            No more words were lost between the couple: the joining of their lips and spirits followed quickly, and the better part of the remainder of the day was spent in those woods, walking and speaking, in low, quiet tones that spoke depths more than the surface told. The intonation was clear, and held: years later, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy would think of their wedding day not as the day when the Church wed them, but as the day when their souls were bonded eternally, their doubts laid to rest, and the last traces of their misapprehensions erased: in that leafy, forest haven, to the north and back a little from the house, on a clear-cut sunny day, under the eyes of no one but each other and God.

---

A/N: I hope you enjoyed that… I thought it went rather well, myself, although a bit schmaltzy and cheesy, I am aware. If you're not religious, please excuse the last paragraph, but I was working within a quite religious time frame, so… oh well. Also excuse the lack of mention of Jane's engagement throughout the piece, and the weak grip I have on language, especially the more formal language of that time.

That said, please tell me what you thought of it, and have a nice day. :-)


End file.
